Hard Pressed

Imagine you're on a bus... a train... let's just assume it's a bus. It's rush hour. The place is packed. You can't even get a seat, so you're standing with the crowd as the bus jerks along in traffic, making its stops, taking on more and more passengers. You needed to go shopping, so you threw on some basics: a cotton shirt, a zip-up sweatshirt, some leggings, sunglasses. Lumpy handbag. You had zero plans to impress anyone.

A few stops into the trip, a man gets on with a crowd. You lift your eyes from your phone, barely catching sight of him, but you can see he has defined features under dark, stylish sunglasses. He's tall, slim, and unshaven, dressed casually but stylishly. A fresh shirt, tailored jeans... the crowd is too dense to make out his shoes. It's hard to tell from your quick glimpse how old he is, other than that he's not a teenager. He makes his way through the crowded bus and finds a spot standing right next to you. Right behind you, actually. Your eyes return to your phone.

You're close enough to notice that he smells great, even though you can't really see him. The smell, though subtle, catches your attention more than you expect. You notice this, too: that you noticed.

As the bus starts moving, you're also close enough that when the bus stops... starts... turns... he's bumping into you. After the bus lurches and turns just a few more times, you sense that he's not just bumping into you with the swaying of the bus. You can feel the back of his free hand, the one not holding onto the bus, subtly brushing against your thigh. It's moving with the bus... but it's also not.

You realize that it doesn't seem natural... or accidental. Yes... his body is bumping into you, but his hand... he's definitely doing that on purpose. As this realization becomes firm, you feel a rush of adrenaline. Your mind says to move away. Maybe to confront him. But you have another instinct, and it's freezing your entire body: curiosity. Maybe even more than curiosity. You tell yourself that the guy doesn't seem to be doing any harm. You can move away whenever you want. And besides... that smell. And he did look good.

You stare straight ahead but you can feel that his hand is lingering - just a second - on your thigh... and it's definitely not just the back of his hand anymore. You don't move... still fearful but also still hoping that he catches your signal to keep going, even though you're not even sure you want to give it to him. As you're thinking this, his hand separates from you with the motion of the bus. And the next time it lands, you feel his palm. And it's slowly caressing your ass. He caught that sign, whether you wanted to give it or not. He's getting bolder. With his next touch you're now sure of it: this stranger has dropped any pretense... and his hand is now groping your ass. On a bus. A packed bus. And his touch is getting slightly firmer every time his body returns next to yours after the bus sways. Nothing urgent...he's clearly in control of himself... but more and more deliberate with each caress. Pressing just a bit deeper into your flesh... venturing just a bit closer to the middle... and lower.

Another stop. More people get on. Your body is squeezed even closer to his. As the bus lurches forward, you're pressed back into him... you linger for a moment, so that your brain can catch up with your body and interpret what you feel with your back, your ass, your thighs. You think: there may be a bit of... a bulge. You separate from him... probably an inch away. And when his belly touches your ass at the next turn of the bus... his hand is now reaching around to your hip to press you into him. You don't resist. You're frozen... not under his control, but under the control of your body... of the feeling of how strong his desire is for you that it makes him so bold.

And that bulge: it seems like it's growing every time you two make contact.

At the next stop there's some shuffling; he moves to let someone by and you separate. But more people get on. He's back behind you, and closer than before. There's no separation now; his body is right behind yours. And you can feel it: the bulge that was pressing against you here and there isn't just a bulge. It's more pointed... reaching between your legs, under your ass... It hits you: sometime during the last stop, this good-smelling, maybe-good-looking pervert has actually taken his cock out of his pants. On the bus.

And it's rubbing between your legs.

You're a little grossed out but also intrigued... this guy has some serious balls to whip out his cock in public like this. It's amazing that no one has noticed - maybe they have? - but you look up from your phone, in front of you... and the bus is packed. Everyone is in his or her own little world. Except you and this stranger. And you can feel, vaguely, how excited he is about you. That thing that must be his cock is pressing you. You feel it between your thighs. You feel it under your panties.

You try to act subtle, but you're compelled. You put your phone in your bag and casually drop your hand to your side. You're not sure about what to do next... but your unconscious seems sure. You find that your hand is slowly, haltingly reaching behind you and between you and him... you have to satisfy your curiosity.

As your hand rounds your ass, it bumps into the base of his cock. You freeze at the touch of his flesh. This is crazy. But you don't recoil, and he senses this. He takes his hand to guide yours around it... thick and swollen... and you can't help but grasp it... feeling how rock hard he is. You move your hand up and down its length to get a tactile picture of it... unconsciously pressing the head of his cock up and between your thighs while you do so. He's big.

You don't stop. You find yourself staring into the space in front of you, stroking this stranger's hard cock behind your back. Rubbing its thick head under your pussy. As you do this, you notice his hand drift to the front of your body, to your waistline. His fingers reach under your sweatshirt... under your shirt... and they find the waistband of your leggings. His fingers don't hesitate; they pull the leggings away from your flesh and meet your panties. With his fist in your leggings - thank God your handbag is covering this a little - he gently drags a finger across the skin just above the waistband of your panties. Your body wants to move forward to the touch of his finger. To arch backward toward his body and his firm cock, the one that is just barely rubbing your pussy through your leggings and panties. You stay completely still, still involuntarily stroking him, your mind completely short circuited from all the impulses. You're hanging on his actions.

You don't have to wait long. His finger presses on your belly to separate your panties from your body... and his hand slides in, heading south. You can feel your heat warm his touch, your wetness easily coats his finger as he separates your lips and drags one up your slit. You catch a moan just after it escapes you, truncating it to an indecipherable grunt. You look around to see whether anyone noticed, but before you can even decide, his finger is at your clit. He's pressing his body into yours, his cock between your legs, holding you with the base of his palm. You're so wet that the motion of his finger feels indescribably smooth.

You've given up on stroking his cock; you simply can't concentrate on doing much of anything. Your hand is still on it, though, and he starts rocking his hips slowly, pushing the head of his cock between your legs, under your pussy, almost meeting his hand in front. You press upward on the underside of his shaft to increase the pressure of his cock on your slit. Even through your leggings, through your panties, you want more of that feeling.

He gets it. His hand reaches further down and he curls a finger out around your panties, expertly pushing them to the side. It pops into your head that this is definitely not Mr. Stranger's first rodeo. You feel your own hand reach up to your waist to hike your leggings higher, stretching the fabric between your lips. Your hand travels back to his cock, pushing it upwards again. He separates your lips and continues his gentle thrusts. The sensation, though mild, is putting you in a trance. One finger of his caresses of your clit, circling it like the rim of a wet wine glass.

It's almost too much.

Another stop, another commotion in the crowded bus, and he leans his face next to you. You feel his hot breath on your ear as he whispers huskily. "Come for me." And an instant later, with his finger slowly, firmly circling your clit, his cock rhythmically stroking you through your leggings... you do, shaking in waves and biting your lip, battling your lungs to stay silent. For a solid minute you don't know where you are... or how you're still standing up on this bus.

The bus turns, swaying everyone. He leans in again. "My turn. Catch me." You reach your hand in front of you, between your handbag and your body, between your thighs. God, the crotch of your leggings is soaked. You connect with the head of his cock and cup your palm around it, stroking the top with your thumb. He's pushing in and out of your hand and after just seconds, he's pushing into you, holding still. You feel him erupt in waves as he lets out a long breath. You tighten your fingers against themselves to contain his hot cum. There's a lot. He lingers for a moment, then withdraws. His hand moves out of your panties, along the side of your thigh, while you put your hand into your bag; you have no idea what to do with it. Thankfully, your hand bumps against a napkin you put there ages ago. His body separates from yours as he goes flaccid; he's probably putting away his cock.

Another stop. In the shuffling you stay still. Nothing. His hand doesn't return to you. His body doesn't return to you. You wait. Then instinctively turn around. The bus is pulling away, and you catch the slightest glimpse out the window of a man in sunglasses, standing on the sidewalk, his lopsided grin clearly directed at you.